


Touch the Northern Lights

by Lumieres



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: M/M, Super Natural Elements, Vikings, clash of ideals, usual Hannibal style warnings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-12-29
Packaged: 2018-06-05 00:50:13
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 21,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6682801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lumieres/pseuds/Lumieres
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a successful raid Hannibal Lecter, the leader of a group of Vikings,  decides to take Will as his prize as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wanderlust96](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wanderlust96/gifts).



Will Graham shifted his weight from side to side, his heart hammering in his chest. The rope was scratchy on his wrists and neck and his shoulders ached from the way his arms hung behind him. With every struggle he made, it was as if the rope got tighter. In the end he simply stood there limply as the pagans ushered him to their fleet of boats. A couple of them laughed at him, other spat, but for most part, they were comparing the chalices and other loot they stole from his people. They were saying things to each other, nudging as they stared at him with insatiable hunger. Like they wanted something more from him. The women were cleaning their shields but as he walked past they bared their teeth and spoke words he could only infer as insults. He had never seen women so strong before. Muscles bulged as they picked up their swords and sheathed it. In their eyes, his allegiance to serve God and God alone was weak.

Soon enough, he stopped trying to read everyone. There were too many and they were all too foreign. But even though he meekly kept his gaze between his feet, he could feel the eyes of the leader’s stare burning into him.

The man had tattoos that ran up his head and one brown eye that stared back at him. The other eye was hidden behind a piece of leather, some sort of make-shift eyepatch. Will shuddered. He felt like he was being figured out, that the man was seeing into his soul. For the first time in a while, he felt completely naked. Swallowing hard, he stumbled forward, the small of his back aching from the slight shove. He yelped when the man tugged at his rope.

“ _Careful, Matthew,”_ the man in front of him had spoken. Even though the noise around them was loud, he could hear the man easily. He spoke with the eerie calm of a man who was always in control. Will barely lifted his head to pay him any attention, only seeing him as the man who had led the army into their peaceful village. It was hard to push away the memory, though. The loud roars and their screams as they charged into the vicinity burned holes into his memory. When they started heading into the village, taking the women –

Will remembered he had tried to stop them, ran up to the man who simply sneered back at him. The chapel had been empty save for Will and another woman. Now, his tunic was ripped as evidence of the assault and his face was still sticky from the tears as the man turned him around, muttering words that he did not understand. But it gave enough time for the woman to run and for that, Will was somehow a little relieved. He had no idea if she was able to run or even escape. It eased his conscience if he decided that she managed to, with his valiant effort, however.

He shivered, the pain still causing him great discomfort. There were scratches that crawled up his forearm when the man had thrown him on the ground, declaring his prize for the leader to see. The leader did not seem to be impressed and Will awkwardly pulled the torn bits of clothing in an attempt to maintain some sort of modesty.

As they neared the water, Will’s bottom lip trembled as he squeezed his eyes shut, muttering a prayer. There were too many ships for him to count and he wondered how far they had travelled across the waters. They were clearly skilled swordsmen as well as craftsman. But he couldn’t help but wonder whether or not their shields would work better using better material. He was glad that their weapons were not as sophisticated as the ones used in Northumbria. If the weapons had been, it would have given them another unfair advantage other than the element of surprise. Will lived in a peaceful coastal village that was too far north for any armada to bother invading. This meant that the King was lax with the guards that patrolled the area, leaving it to the duke to train ruffians who wanted a shot at nobility. Will sighed. Most of them were probably dead now, anyway. At least they died valiantly, he tried to reason.

Will jerked away suddenly when he felt a hand slither across his face, eyes wide. The man, the _leader_ he inferred, kept his hand on his face, his brown eye staring into his eyes. He tilted his head to the side and brought Will close, sniffing him. Then a smile slithered to his lips as he laughed quietly. The laugh was like a low rumble. Was he going to do it to him as well? Will hated not knowing how to read these savages. They were –

They were different to what he was used to. He was good at reading people, but these men were not like anyone he had met. His eyes were hot with tears as he tried to move away, not wanting to face the same humiliation again, not wanting to have to face his God in such a way that would only bring him more dishonour. 

When nothing happened, Will cracked open his eyes once he had realised he had squeezed them shut in fear. The man gingerly flicked fingers across Will's face, as if trying to memorise the curves and other aspects. Unable to maintain a level of calm, Will's bottom lip quivered which only caused the man's mouth to curl in satisfaction.

“Hannibal,” the man said, pointing his hand to himself. He stepped into the boat and leaned his forearms against his knees, motioning for Will to come. When Will didn’t move a hand pushed him forward and he lost balance. Without his hands to slow his fall, he fell to the ground, his head hitting the side of the wooden boat. Pain erupted on his cheek and he felt warm blood trickle down. He groaned as laughter erupted around him. But it was silenced when _Hannibal_ raised his hand.

“ _Help him up.”_

It was another face that brought him to his feet. The man was scarred, with a cleft lip that marked him out from the rest. He simply grunted in response and looked like he had not smiled for a very long time. Will nodded at him silently and took a step in the boat and sat down as far away as he could from _Hannibal_. He brought his knees up to his chest and leaned his chin against his knees, hoping that if he made himself small, he would go unseen. But when that was not the case, Will shivered involuntarily. Hannibal was already in front of him, still looking with those curious eyes, still wondering.

He pointed a thumb to his chest and said again, “Hannibal.”

“Will,” he replied, though the way that it made Hannibal’s chest surge made him wish he had never said his name.

“Power,” Hannibal said. Each word was well thought out, like he was trying to remember the translation for each one. He leaned forward, finger brushing at Will's cheek. As he pulled it away, there was a thin layer of blood. Will assumed it was the blood that was left from his fall. He moved his jaw, still aching from the fall. Humiliation meant nothing to him at the moment. He was already bound and at the mercy of another human being. There was little he could do apart from keep his mouth shut in fake defiance.

“They say names give power.” His accent was foreign but it was enough for Will to understand what he was saying.

His curiousity got the better of him and he opened his mouth to pose a question.

“How do you know how to speak my language?” Will asked though quietly. There was nothing he wanted more than to run back to the burned village, run back to find his people once more. In the fleet of _pagans,_ he felt out of place.

“I am curious,” he said quietly, though his clear attempts at communicating with him seemed to take a lot of effort. Hannibal’s eyebrows knitted together as his mouth moulded into the next sentence. “As long as you are with me. You are –“

Will wanted to finish the sentence, but his own humility rendered him silent. He stared on with wide eyes.

“Safe.”

At those words, Will burst out laughing in hysterical fits. The man’s eyes flashed dangerously and the laughter bubbled to a halt on his lips, suddenly feeling acidic.

“You will not be hurt,” Hannibal said, hoping that those words will simply convince him. “You _will_ not be hurt.”

Will did not bother responding. The conversation had lasted for far too long. As the boat began gaining momentum, Will closed his eyes once more. He pictured standing by the altar, he pictured the day going exactly how it was meant to. He pictured nothing changing.  There was once a time where his faith had wavered but that was a long time ago. Now, he tilted his head back to the heavens and pleaded to God, hoping that his lord would return him back to his people.

Hannibal leaned forward, fingers clasping the cross around Will’s neck. Will pulled away violently from the shock and cried out when it broke. Although Hannibal’s expression barely changed, he noted Will’s discomfort and tried to tie it back together.

“I am sorry,” Hannibal said. Will grunted in response. Again he shifted his wrists. Along with his neck, it was the only part of his body they tied and if he could just break free from those bounds, then he could possibly swim back to the shore. They weren’t that far out, possibly a couple of kilometres. It would be a long swim, but at least he would not have to spend the rest of his days with these men.

A woman slid next to Hannibal, clear distrust emanating from her as she sized Will up. Her dark brown hair was done in plaits tied closely to her scalp and there was a long scar that went across her neck. She placed down her shield loudly and shook her head. 

" _Why did you bring him?"_ she asked, loudly. " _He will be of no use to us."_

Hannibal's lip quirked. " _He will have a use. You need to be patient, Alana."_

" _No, he will be a burden. He does not even have the muscles for work."_ Alana moved to grab Will's arm and pushed up his sleeves, showing Will's stick like figure. His skin crawled and he began shaking violently. Alana's eyes narrowed and she bit her bottom lip with disdain. " _Look, he's trembling."_

" _No one is as powerful as you, shield maiden,"_ Hannibal said eyes glittering with amusement. " _He is a priest. He shall teach us where to raid next."_

This silenced Alana. She folded her arms and kicked at Will's leg. Will let out a loud yelp. Again, the woman let out another dissatisfied noise. _"You better be speaking the truth, Hannibal."_

Whatever they had talked about, it was clearly about him. It was fine though, he was going to escape soon. He just needed to wait for the right moment... which was probably now seeing as Hannibal was engaged in conversation. He turned his head out to the ocean and closed his eyes tightly, bracing himself. This was a stupid move. It was, but he couldn’t think of another alternative. After counting to three, he stood up and jumped head first into the icy abyss.  

The cold water shattered his resolve and he broke through the surface, spluttering. He began paddling through the water, hoping that he could swim away. He swam with all his might, feet kicking the water, but it looked as if the shore was getting further and further away from him. He gave it one last attempt, his hands flailing and sucked in deep breaths. 

A couple boats circled him, stopping him in his tracks. He knew he was defeated. There was only punishment left for him, he reasoned. With his chest rising and falling, he raised his gaze meekly to meet the merciless grin of the man who he had met at the chapel.

“ _Don’t touch him, Frederick,”_ Hannibal shouted from his boat. Will turned to look, seeing the man annoyed for the first time. " _Frederick."_  

Frederick blatantly ignored his orders and sneered at Will as he held out his hand.  When Will reached out for it with blind hope, Frederick took it and lifted him up, only to drop him back into the water just as he was about to reach the safety of the deck. The men around him laughed loudly, each one nudging each other at the sight of Will, wet and shivering in the middle of their fleet. 

“ _If you disobey my orders again, I will have to punish you,”_ Hannibal said as he neared. The men’s oars craftily cut through the water and Will shivered as his shoulders drooped in defeat. The water was _so, so_ cold. The man named Matthew and Hannibal pulled Will from the waters. It was hard to determine what expression Hannibal had, but it was something halfway between disappointment and curiosity. Will shivered as he sat down in a corner once more. Matthew draped a coat around him but Hannibal shook his head immediately.

“ _If our prisoner wishes to be cold, so let him_ ,” he said and Matthew, although unable to protest properly shook his head. 

“ _He will die. He will get hyperthermia,”_ Matthew replied when an argument formed. He was being careful, trying to tread carefully. " _I know that you enjoy your little games, Hannibal, but don’t you –“_

“ _Later, he has to learn that he is not the free man he once was,"_ Hannibal cut him off and he placed another hand on Will’s cheek. The hand was so warm that Will leaned into it, trying to sap as much heat as possible. It  had been an uncalculated move, but if he didn’t swim to shore, he hoped that hypothermia would engulf him in his last moments. Now he had to suffer through his failure and what was going to happen afterwards.

“You are lucky I am a patient man,” Hannibal said. He pulled his hand abruptly and Will hated himself for gravitating towards it. “But you must fear the anger of such man.”

Will shivered involuntarily and lowered his head.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A kind of early in progress present for Jess. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (And yes I have a problem of starting too many stories at once)


	2. Chapter 2

The trip back was spent in silence. Hannibal had stopped talking to Will when other people approached him. The leader moved away and left him to find a quieter place on the boat and Will was happier to no longer be under their _king’s_ scrutiny.

Will was given water only when he licked his chapped lips. He stayed in his position by the side of the boat with his legs drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he made himself as small as possible. The pagans were scattered everywhere and no matter where he tried to move, they seemed to follow him. All he could do was simply ignore their stares and retreat into his mind.

The wind bit into his garments and he shivered, thoughts lingering on the icy cold water that he had plunged into hours before. His hands were still white but his cheeks had regained colour – a vermillion against his pale skin. More often than not, he found his gaze lingering on the horizon in the direction they had come from. His heart echoed a lonely tune in his chest, aching with longing as he shivered. His skin was littered with goose-bumps and no matter how many times he rubbed his skin, he could not keep the cold at bay. With the ever increasing wind, it was hard to even stay remotely warm on this boat.

The men languidly laid about, leaving most of the work to the wind as the sails billowed outwards. They bit into their apples loudly and specifically in Will’s view. Juice squirted and hit him on the face. Will wiped it away hastily and they laughed at each other, nudging them. A couple threw their cores by his feet. He spat at one of them, hissing as his stomach growled loudly.

The man stood up immediately, getting to his feet. He had blond hair that was shaved on the side and eyes that were on the verge of amusement and animalistic rage. He picked up a fresh apple and taunted Will with it. “You want?”

No matter how much Will tried to restrain his movements, he found that he couldn’t. He desperately wanted something to eat and even just the simple act of _water_ would have made him happy. This offer, although a taunt, gave him an opportunity to have something to eat. Though he didn't want to admit it, he also wished to wipe the man's grin off his face as he managed to prise the apple free from his fingers.

Will decided that it was worth the chance. Decided that if he succeeded, his pride would be rewarded.

He lunged, hands flinging out in an attempt to grasp the prize in his hand, but the man simply danced away, his long hair flying in the wind.

“A priest is slow,” he said, the smile never leaving his lips. Will’s vision turned red as he swung at the man, making contact with his cheek. But it did little to throw him off and the man simply gave a hearty laugh, turning back to his friends and shrugged.

He aimed a perfect punch at Will. Screaming out in pain, his head hit the side of the boat and he could taste blood in his mouth. His vision blurred slightly and the man threw another apple core at him. The juice stuck to his face and with great deliberation, Will slowly got to his feet, heaving as anger drove his footsteps forward. The air around him was thick and he could feel the anger permeate into him in ways that he had never experienced before. It thudded and reverberated in his mind. One of the few reasons why he chose to become a priest was because of his empathy. Even though he was a man of solitude, he knew enough to understand people and give them counsel when they needed it. This was different. This was pure animalistic rage.

Will threw his body against the man, eyes wide when he found the ground rushing towards him. Another round of laughter engulfed his surroundings.

“A priest is still slow,” the man said once more. Will moved as fast as he could, but his fist came from nowhere. The force knocked him off his feet and he let out an anguished cry of pain as his shoulder blades hit the deck.

“ _What is this?”_ Hannibal’s authoritative voice echoed among the deck. The men scurried away, breaking the circle to reveal the two of them in the middle. “ _Mason. Stay here.”_

Will was still on the floor, his face burning with pain. Hannibal got down to his haunches and gently pushed Will over to see the black and blue bruises blossoming over his face. Will looked away in disgust and shame, wondering what had gotten over him to have tried to get something so mundane. Behind Hannibal was Matthew, seemingly always in his shadow, always watching and waiting. His mouth thinned as he tipped his head to acknowledge Will. There were pity and sorrow in the man’s eyes but he maintained his silence. Will could not tell if the silence was out of his fear of saying something wrong in Hannibal’s presence or their language barrier.

“You wanted to eat?” Hannibal asked. He held up his hand, eyes still intently looking at Will’s bright blue. “ _Give me the apple, Mason.”_

Mason threw it at Hannibal who swiped it from the air without looking and handed it to Will. Will took it with his two hands, trembling as he lifted it to his mouth. The juice dripped down his chin but he didn’t care. He had not eaten since the night before, reaching the dining hall at a time where everyone had finished eating. The apple was covered in his own blood. He had not realised that his inner mouth was still bleeding, but at the same time, he didn’t mind. Hannibal took Will’s chin and wiped it clean. With his strong hands, he kept Will’s mouth opened and analysed its contents. Two thick fingers made their way into his mouth and Will tried moving away in shock, but Hannibal’s other hand prevented him from doing so.

Pain flared and his vision turned black for a split second. It came back slowly. Pinched between Hannibal's forefinger and thumb was a bloodied tooth. Will rubbed his jaw and looked down at his hands, not daring to make eye contact with Hannibal.

“ _Matthew, can you please bring me some salt and water,”_ Hannibal said. “If you are hungry you should ask.”

Will kept his mouth closed in defiance and looked away. Matthew came back a couple of seconds later with the supplies. Hannibal poured the water and salt together, mixing it. He pulled Will to his feet and let the man lean against him as he limped over to the side of the boat. Pushing the wooden cup between Will’s hands, he motioned for Will to drink and then pointed at the water beneath them. Will rinsed his mouth and spat into the ocean, staring with horror at the red mark it left for a second before it was swept away in the current.

Then Hannibal pulled out a flask from his inner manteau pocket and gave it to Will. “It will numb the pain.”

Will lifted it to his mouth, almost spitting it out with horror. Hannibal’s hand lifted and covered Will’s mouth as he choked against the foul tasting liquid. He spluttered, and coughed, forcing himself to swallow it. The liquid scraped down his throat, burning. He wiped away the tears that prickled his eyes and looked once more at the flask in his hands.

“Drink,” Hannibal urged. “It will help.”

Will tried again. Each sip became more bearable and he found that the more he drank, the more light-headed he became. Another hand filled his vision and Will jerked back suddenly in surprise. He blinked dumbly at the piece of food that was offered to him. It was some sort of dried meat that looked unappetising. But his stomach growled loudly and he took it, mumbling thanks at _Matthew_.

He swiped a long piece of stray hair and pushed up his sleeves to reveal more tattoos. They obviously had meaning, but to Will, he could not see the appeal. His blade caught the last remnants of the setting sun and Matthew angled his body away, noticing Will’s gaze.

“Okay?” the man said gruffly, the words thick and croaky. “You. Okay?”

Will nodded. The man took off his large cloak and draped it over Will’s shoulders. Will found himself looking at Hannibal for approval and scolded himself for doing that. When Hannibal didn’t protest, Will sighed, bringing the coat closer around him, trying to lean into its warmth. He nibbled the dried beef, barely looking at the two who showed him the most kindness out of everyone else. His hands still felt raw from the rope, but the pain was not as great as the way his cheek throbbed. Tomorrow was going to be horrible for him, Will decided.

“You are to sleep next to me tonight,” Hannibal said. Will nodded again, thankful for that.

“Thank you,” Will whispered. “You are kind.”

Hannibal placed a hand on Will’s cheek and crooked his head to the side. “Be more careful. You are among different company now.”

Will was unsure how to respond to that. Instead, he simply nodded and took another bite, casting a wary glance over his shoulder.

“ _Mason,”_ Hannibal said, turning his attention back to the man who had started the taunt. The man was not at all apologetic. He watched Hannibal with a defiance that only belonged to a man who knew that he had the upper ground. Unable to tell whether or not it was something that was grounded in truth, Will tried his best to avoid any form of eye contact. “ _What am I going to do with you?”_

“ _What are you going to do with him? I know what I would like to do with him,”_ Mason’s eyes again flashed dangerously as he licked his lips. His fingers trailed down to his thighs and he lifted his eyebrows. “ _We must taint such a priest. I want to eat him. Is this what you're saving him for?”_

“ _Do not touch him or I will chop off your hands,”_ Hannibal said. _“Now I do not want to see your face for the rest of the journey. If I do, I **will** chop off your hands.” _

Mason rolled his eyes dramatically. _"So you are saving him. Are you going to plump him up? I would like to see more than flesh hanging on bone."_

 _"We already have plenty of new meat, Mason. Now leave. Your presence only disgusts me."_ Will felt his shoulders lift in relief when his tormentor disappeared from sight.

“Come with me,” Hannibal said, ushering Will along. Will walked behind him meekly, taking hesitant steps. Matthew was a couple of steps behind the two of them. Hannibal stopped and scooped Will towards him, wrapping an arm around his shoulder as he led them to the helm of the boat. “Stay with me. My men will avoid you.”

The order was something that Will was happy to follow.

“ _Do we want to sail during the night?”_ Matthew asked Hannibal. Will found that he was able to determine certain words now, the longer he listened to them. Their sentence structure was similar and there were some words that sounded like the words he knew. _Night_.

They were talking about night. Will lifted his head in interest, wondering if they were going to head to shore. Judging by the state of land around them, they were still in the heart of the sea and it would still be hours until they got anywhere near land. That meant that he had little place to hide from everyone else.

“ _The moon will still be up,”_ Hannibal replied. “ _I believe that it is wise for us to continue our journey.”_

“ _Of course, sir,”_ Matthew replied, nodding. He was only wearing a long sleeved cotton shirt and Will wondered whether he was cold or not, but he chose not to ask. The man’s manteau was something that he would rather keep than give up. “ _I shall inform the rest.”_

When Matthew disappeared from sight, Hannibal returned his gaze onto Will.

“ _My men are rude sometimes. But they are useful for the time being,”_ he said, before realising that he was speaking in his native tongue. Will was able to make out the words _rude, men_ and _useful_. “They do not know better.”

“It’s okay,” Will said. He was in no position to complain, anyway.

“Can you please teach me about your religion?” Hannibal asked. “I wish to learn.”

“Of course,” Will said, though slightly confused. “What would you like to know?”

“Everything.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Actual birthday update! Enjoy the new decade, friend c;


	3. Chapter 3

The ship was quiet when the sun went down. Most of the men confined themselves to a corner of the ship, rugged up in their furs. Not a single one of them complained when Hannibal declared that they were going to continue sailing for the night. They were still happy from the amount of gold they raided, and the women they fucked. It was not going to last long, however, and Hannibal knew this.

The only sounds that were left were the water sloshing against the wood and the wind ricocheting against the large sails. Will refused to sleep as he kept his feet firmly tucked beneath his bottom and his eyes half closed as he listened to any words from his god. The cold bit at his fingers and his nose, his mouth half chattering as he rubbed his hands, trying his best to stay warm. 

Every so often he would think of the life he had left behind, the people he worked with at the parish. They were most likely dead now. Will swallowed hard at the thought. This chain of action must be God’s path for him, it has to be. If he passes, he will be able to go back home, back to the sanctity of everything. For now, he needed to _adapt_ and _evolve_.

The only person who was awake was Matthew. Hannibal was a couple of metres away, his head tucked to his chest, his cloak draped over him. For the first time, the man looked as if the stresses of the day had washed away from him. Will tilted his head, wondering how the man managed to commandeer such a bunch. He wanted to move towards him, nudge him awake. The man’s piercing eyes beneath the tattoos as he curiously asked his questions were better than the sound of sloshing beating against the wood.

Matthew stood by the large oar used to steer the boat, his back facing away from Will but still acutely aware of the other man’s presence. His step was a little unsteady and when Will thought he was going to fall over, he managed to regain his footing. Unease sat in Will’s stomach and he balled his hands into a fist as he punched the ground. Perhaps it was better if he just turned away from his lord and accepted this fate.

“Cannot sleep?” Matthew grunted, barely turning. Will got to his feet, startled. He still had the large manteau wrapped around him, feeling strangely comforting against the sharp edges of his bones. It made him feel bigger than he actually was.  “Come, I will show.”

He gestured in a half circle as his fingers tapped the wood. His shirt was tight against his back as his muscles tightened, keeping the oar in place. He guided Will’s hand towards the wood, his calloused skin scratchy against Will’s own. It was warm, warm enough that he wanted to hold it forever.  

“Can you teach me your language?” Will asked, his breath heavy. He hated the fact that every talked behind him, looking at him with greedy eyes. He hated _not_ knowing what they were saying.  

“Language?” Matthew repeated, the word feeling foreign against his lips.

“Your words,” Will said. “ _Words, words_.”

He tried to repeat what Hannibal had said to him at some point. The word was mangled against his own tongue and Matthew laughed, a guttural laugh. He then repeated what Will had tried to say and Will felt the heat rise to his cheeks. He looked away.

“ _King,”_ Matthew said. “ _King,_ Hannibal is _king_.”

He shifted in and out of the language that Will knew and back into his own. His finger pointed towards Hannibal once more. “He is better teacher than me.”

Will shrugged. “You are awake.”

“But not teacher,” Matthew grunted. He moved his hands around, trying to come up with words to say but he was unable to string them together. Instead, he closed his mouth together and raised his hand to his jaw, massaging it gently.

“Then we can learn from each other,” Will said, though he knew that Matthew did not understand. “ _Learn_.” He tried to say. This drew another smile from Matthew who shrugged. There was a twinkle beneath Matthew’s eyes though as he turned to face Hannibal, like a plan bubbled beneath his chest. He licked his lips and pulled out a flask from his pocket, taking one long sip. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat that glistened across his face and once again swallowed more.

“Are you feeling okay?”

There, Will saw it. The feverish gaze, the way that he kept his hand on the oar. “I am fine. Do not worry.”

Then his eyes widened a little, his jaw setting. He lowered his head and pushed Will away a little.

Will stumbled back, confused at the movement.

“Still awake?” Hannibal’s voice startled him. He turned around wildly, trying to make the connection between Matthew’s movement and Hannibal waking, but reached a dead end. Matthew was still by the large oar, leaning heavily against it. It was hard to see in the pale light but if you looked closely, you could see his heavy breathing.

Will swallowed hard and nodded, shrugging. “It’s hard to sleep on the sea.”

“Not used to it,” Hannibal shrugged as he stretched his back. His hand gripped the edge of the boat as he hoisted himself to his feet. Balancing on the balls of his feet, he readjusted his eyepatch, rubbing his eye and wincing. “ _Perhaps it would have been better we stopped for the night.”_

“ _We are in a hurry. If we get back soon, our lands are less at risk,”_ Matthew replied, his voice devoid of the emotion he had before. It was all business. “ _We did leave our most vulnerable unprotected.”_

“ _You are always wise, Matthew,”_ Hannibal replied as he rolled his shoulder, taking out the tension. 

“ _You left your children.”_

Hannibal nodded. “ _One day, they will come raiding.”_

He moved over towards Will and stopped, examining him closely. “Are you cold? Or hungry?”

Will shook his head. After his encounter with Mason, he was no longer hungry. He had eaten the meat they had given him and drank the ale they shared. He remembered how flushed his cheeks were afterwards and the laughter on the men’s faces. Everything he did, they mocked somehow. It was better when he was in Hannibal’s shadow, however, because they did it more subtly – as if afraid of their king’s wrath.

Hannibal tapped the wooden oar, staring out into the ocean. “ _Why has a man of such intelligence not tried to remove me of my power? Don’t all men want power?”_

Matthew shifted uncomfortably. “ _Most men. But not me, I am not ambitious. I rather stability, sir.”_

 _“I can tell when a man is lying,”_ Hannibal replied, his smile half lit by the pale moonlight. He scratched at his chin and tilted his head to the sky, breathing in the salty air. “ _You, fortunately, are not lying right now. But men wants change. I hope I can have your loyalty to the end.”_

 _“You have it until I reach Valhalla,”_ Matthew said, nodding. He tried moving again, readjusting his course, but it was clumsy. Will was there, trying to push, but his muscles were too weak.

“Matthew is not well,” Will said after their silence. Hannibal angled his head and turned to face his right hand man, mouth curving into a frown as he examined him. With steady fingers, he placed his hands against Matthew’s neck and forehead, eyes closing lightly as if he had just been greeted by dire news.

“ _Why did you not tell me earlier? I would have let you rest,”_ Hannibal said as his finger angled Matthew’s head up. He looked into the man’s feverish eyes and shook his head. Taking off his coat, he handed it to Matthew who took it dumbly.

“ _You will get sick as well,”_ Matthew replied.

“ _I have the blood of Odin in me,”_ Hannibal said, arrogance radiating from him. “ _I do not get sick. I do not bleed.”_

This let out a short laugh from Matthew. “ _I have seen you bleed, king. I have seen you cry out in pain.”_

Hannibal’s eyes flickered with amusement. “ _But only you. Do you think the others have seen?”_

He pushed the coat further and held onto Matthew’s hands. He swallowed and again, wiped the sweat off his face. “ _I am not cold_.”

“ _Take it, Matthew, and rest. I will wake you in the morning_.”

Matthew thanked him and nodded. He took Hannibal’s old position and leaned on the empty barrel, bringing the cloak around him.

“Was it my fault?” Will said. “He gave me his coat…”

“Perhaps,” Hannibal replied, shrugging. “It does not matter. He will get better, he is a strong man.”

“I’m sorry,” Will sighed.

Hannibal’s eyebrows knitted, perplexed. “Why?”

“I have put you through a lot of trouble,” Will said, his voice getting smaller and smaller. “First Mason, now this… I think I will cause you more trouble.”

“You have told me about your kingdom, about which places we can raid. I do not call you trouble,” Hannibal nodded. He traced his finger around Will’s face, eyes radiating with amusement. “You have plenty more use to come. But I do not think you will be very good if you stayed like that.”

“Like what?”

“You have no muscle. You have no skills. You cannot survive in this world without it,” Hannibal said, he took a step back from him, his shoulders set as he came up with a solution. “When we get to shore, talk to Alana. She will teach you some tricks.”

“A woman?”

Hannibal’s eyebrow quirked. “Is that a problem?”

The questioning gaze made Will feel uncomfortable. He pushed aside his own prejudices and stumbled around for an answer. “No, it’s just that… women are not fighters, back home.”

Again, Hannibal’s lips thinned to a pale line. “That I do not understand. You will have bigger armies if you included women as well.”

“I guess this is true,” Will nodded.

“You should sleep,” Hannibal noted as he raised his hand to the sky. “I believe the sun will rise again soon.”

“Yeah,” Will agreed as he looked to his feet, scuffing the ground.

Hannibal placed another hand on Will’s shoulder, squeezing it reassuringly.

“Rest,” Hannibal repeated as he brought Will close. His breath was hot against Will’s neck and he rubbed Will’s back repeatedly. “We have a big day tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

Will stayed close to Hannibal when the boat docked. His face hurt and he found he could barely move his mouth from the fist fight of the previous day, but other than that, he was thankful to be on steady ground once more. Matthew was the first one to be sent off the boat, a fiery haired woman helping him and another as they staggered towards the nearest hut. 

" _Freddie,"_ Hannibal called, his voice taking a warning tone. " _Do not do anything to him. I do not want your services or even for you to pray to the Gods. Beverly is the only one who will tend to him."_

Through his dazed gaze, Matthew tipped his head in thanks and pushed his matted hair past his forehead. His breath was heavy and he looked as if he was on the verge of passing out, but the fiery haired woman's step did not falter when she heard Hannibal's order. 

" _It is the Gods will I follow, my **liege** ," _she said sarcastically. She flicked her hair across her shoulder and began moving once more. The dark haired woman beside her tugged them along, hoping to avoid this confrontation. " _It is the Gods who speak through **me** , not you." _

Hannibal's mouth twisted to formulate a response but the words died on his lips as his only free eye narrowed. From the corner of his eye, Will saw Mason leer at him, licking his lips. Will retreated further into himself, hoping that the movement would allow Mason to forget about him.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Hannibal asked, sighing loudly. He ran his hand through his hair, his gaze still settled on Freddie as she dragged Matthew away, distrust emanating from him. Mason spun around, eyes focusing on Hannibal before shrugging dramatically. He sulked over towards the cargo and began hoisting hessian bags over his shoulder, dropping them without a care.

Hannibal’s mouth shifted and his shoulders set, moving towards the blond haired man once more. Mason was bigger than Hannibal, but he lacked the brain, the cunning. As Hannibal squared his stance, he stared into Mason’s eyes, tilting his head with deliberation.

“ _You’re being very rude_ ,” Hannibal said through gritted teeth. “ _You need to do this more carefully. They’re precious_.”

“ _Oh, I **know**_ ,” Mason said, laughing. “ _Oh how I **know**._ ”

He pushed past Hannibal, making sure that his hand lingered on the man’s shoulder for longer than necessary. Hannibal's shoulders stiffened and he held his breath for long enough for Will to notice. When Mason was satisfied with the response, he continued his job, another predatory smile as he passed Will.

A small child ran towards Hannibal and stopped by his feet, raising his hands up. Hannibal turned around, a genuine smile erupting on his face in genuine happiness. He lifted the child and spun him in the air repeatedly. Alana was a half step behind, smiling at the small child. When the two had stopped spinning, she dragged delicate fingers across the child's face and kissed him lightly on the forehead.

“Bjarke,” he said as he brought the child close. He had startlingly familiar features, the soft brown eyes, but he held the eyes of innocence, while Hannibal held the eyes of a man who had seen oceans rise and empires fall. “ _You’ve grown a lot_!”

" _Where is your sister?"_ Alana asked causing Bjarke to wave his hands about sporadically, bumping a hand into Hannibal's face. She tried to hide back a laugh with the back of her hand. " _Careful, you might take out your father's other eye."_  

Beneath his lashes, he looked up demurely at her, muttering some small apology. Then his gaze settled curiously on Will. “ _Who is he?”_

Will smiled as warmly as he could, though he avoided eye contact. He was focusing on the items that were carted from the ships to the shore, wondering what they were going to do with them all.

“ _His name is Will.”_

 _“He looks funny,”_ Bjarke scrunched his face and buried it in Hannibal’s hair.

“ _He does, but we will ask Beverly to get him some new clothes.”_ Hannibal leaned down and delicately placed Bjarke on the ground again.

 _“Let me go raiding, please, please!”_ He jumped up and down. 

“ _In time, patience,”_ Hannibal ruffled the boy’s hair and turned back to face Will who had paled significantly. “Are you okay, William?”

He lifted a trembling hand, pointing at the hessian bag. His throat felt raw and scratchy as bile scraped through, his stomach tossing. The head that poked from the bag that Mason had dropped was one of the fellow priests in the parish.

He whispered in a voice that didn’t sound like his, “What are you doing with the bodies?”

He dreaded the answer and found the world began to swim around him. Who else were in the hessian bags? Were they all members of his community? These pagans had the audacity to bring them back all the way which meant that they were going to do something with them. Which meant –

“The meat, Will. It’s our source during the winter months,” Hannibal replied. Will heard a cry of surprise and soon, he found that the floor had rushed to his face. He clutched at his stomach, wondering _who_ he had eaten before.

Turning around, he curled his back as he threaded his fingers to the back of his throat, hoping that he could at least vomit up the remains. Hot tears ran down his face and his breathing became erratic. They were pagans, they were the lowest form. No matter how civil Hannibal was to him, they could never get along. Will needed to escape. Will needed to get back to Northumbria.

“Will?” Hannibal asked, sitting on his haunches. “Why? What is the matter?”

Will gave Hannibal a repulsed expression and shook his head. “You’re a monster.”

Will desperately wanted Hannibal’s lips to peel back, form a wolfish grin, admit his monstrosity. But nothing of that sort happened. He simply stared at Will with confusion, trying to understand the weight of what he had just said.

“Why?” he asked, tilting his head, after a few moments of silence.

And that was when Will’s world thankfully faded to black.


	4. Chapter 4

It had been at least four months since the raid. Adjusting, at first, had been difficult. The language was foreign at the same time familiar, always on the tip of his tongue. It took him a month to be able to talk, _“like a child”_ as Bjarke called it, but after the second month, he was conversing with everyone without a second thought. He tried his best to copy everyone’s cadences, the way their voices rose and fell on certain vowels, but it was hard. Even though he had a scholarly mind, their speech patters were not what he was used to and he could not perfect his account that stood out of place among the crowd.

He wiped the sweat off his brow, leaning against one of the trees languidly. The taste of summer was on his lips: sweet and bright. Even though the temperatures did not rise to the beautiful weather he had experienced in Paris, it was a relief from the biting winter. Everything about this was a relief from the harsh winter that rattled the very core of his soul. 

Paris.

Will could smell the streets, the bakeries each morning, the smell of flowers as people gathered their belongings to trot off to work. It was all a life time ago. When everything was easier.

The work he did here, for the pagans, was hard. Everything about their lifestyle _was_ hard.

As a scholar, it was not what he was used, but he did it anyway. It was time to adapt and survive, not linger on the hopes that he would return back to Northumbria, back to his peaceful life among the sacred texts. These pagans, though. They survive through the toughest winters, each one of them stoic and steadfast in their views. Who lived, who died, it was all up to the gods and the gods alone. Will couldn’t help but feel a surge of wonder at their civilisation every time he saw it from atop this hill.

Sighing, he bent down and began cradling the pieces of wood he had managed to procure and walked down the hill, back to where everyone else was. Back to their scrutiny.

As he neared the camp, Bjarke ran towards him, small feet pattering. He was nearing eight and had the same curiosity Hannibal had, if not even more childlike. Holding out a hand, he patiently waited.

“Let me help,” Bjarke said. Will looked around to see Hannibal’s eyes gazing back at him, tipping his head, granting him permission. Will gave the boy a couple of logs and continued the walk down the hill, the grass prickling at his legs. “Dinner is ready. Everyone is in the hall.”

Will winced involuntarily at the word _dinner_. Every end of the week, it was the same, the one constant that allowed him to track how many days had passed since he was captured. He dropped the wood by the side of one of the huts and leaned a calloused hand against the wall, his breath heavy. Bjarke’s questioning gaze poked through the pile of wood in his hands, but he said nothing. The child was used to it. Will often lapsed into moments of silence, where he would simply converse with the empty voice in his head, hoping for just _one_ sign.

Here, among Hannibal’s people, he saw _many_ others. He saw how Odin and Freyja gave signs to everyone around here. His god remained aloof and silent.

As soon as he walked into the hall, he was greeted by a menagerie of stares. Some looked at him with lust, the others with mute annoyance and a few gave him broad smiles. Beverly tossed an apologetic look in his direction when he caught her gaze. But once he murmured something at the nearest person and started stumbling towards a free seat, the hall livened up with chatter once more.

He grabbed a bowl of broth and with diligence, he began pushing away the meat to the side. It had taken him a lot of hiding and keeping his head down during these meals to avoid the scrutiny of others. A couple had picked up on the fact that he had turned vegetarian since he came, but no one said anything. He had a feeling it was Hannibal’s threats that kept them in line.

“How are you today, Will?” Beverly asked him as she took a seat across from the table. Her cheeks were flushed from the alcohol that she still was intent on finishing.

Will shrugged, keeping his response as short as possible. Beverly had grown used to this, often speaking by herself and just happy that someone would listen to her stories.

“Ack, today was the worst, do you know who came into the hut asking to be patched up?” Beverly said, rolling her eyes. “The sly idiot wants to take down _Hannibal_ and become _king_ himself.”

Her laughter caught the attention of the people around them and she waved a glass with ale. The liquid sloshed over the edges, wetting the person beside her. “To Mason _Verger!_ The man who wants to take _Hannibal_ down!”

She nudged the man’s shoulder and laughed loudly. The man tried to toss her an annoyed glance, but a laugh threatened to burst from his lips. 

Will’s eyes widened as he reached over, placing a hand on Beverly’s arm. “Beverly, sh. Don’t –“

“What do you think he’ll do to me?” Beverly said. “You think he’ll kill the person who’s patched him up so many times?”

“Bev, just… I don’t want you to get hurt,” Will said, half swallowing the words. His bottom lip quivered a little and he looked down at his half-finished bowl. “Promise me. Bev. Promise me.”

“Will?” Concern emanated from her in waves. Then she swigged her beer one more time, slamming the glass against the wooden table. “I’m always saying these things. No one really cares much.”

He began repeating his movements again, meticulously

Then her voice softened a little, a familiar half grin lighting her face. “Speak of the devil.”

Will barely had time to prepare himself.

“Why don’t you eat properly, priest?” A familiar mop of yellow hair entered his vision. He pulled the fork out of Will’s hands and poked the meat. “You were so eager for my apple that night, why don’t you eat properly?”

“Mason, let him be,” Beverly said, her voice taking a dark turn. Her hand twisted around the metal fork, fingertips blanching.

Beneath his fur coat, he rolled his shoulders and took a step onto the bench. He leaned his body so that his nose almost touched Beverly’s nose and without saying another word, he grabbed the mug of ale in her hands and slurped it.

“It was meant to be a secret,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “Now you made me look like a fool in front of everyone here. I do not want to have business with you as well. But I might have to, seeing as you’re fond of the priest.”

Will lowered his gaze at the mention of his _title_ , his teeth grinding each other as he tried to bite back the fear.

_Don’t let them know that you’re scared._

Bjarke had mentioned that to him one day as he sat from the tree, feet dangling in the air.

_Or they’ll eat you up._

Mason planted his bottom on the table and stuck a booted foot between Will’s thighs, held tilting when he saw Will’s face contort with discomfort.

“You’ll have to do,” Mason said, picking up the remnants of Will’s meal. Spinning the fork on his fingertips he tilted his head. “A priest tries to hide.”

He aimed the fork towards Will’s mouth, but Will slapped the man’s hand away. The remnants of the human bounced on the wooden table and Mason let out a tight breath as he slammed the fork into the wooden table.  

“Do you want to fight again?” Mason said, anger simmering behind his eyes. The next word thundered among the hall, rendering it silent. “Eat!”

Will raised his head in defiance, locking his gaze with Mason’s eyes. With the words on the edge of his teeth, he said, “I will not do anything you order me to do.”

Mason gritted his teeth, his muscles tensing as he was about to do something. Will stiffened as well, his body ready to move. He remembered Alana’s training, he remembered the training stance, he remembered that everyone was always out to attack him if he was not careful. Listening carefully to Mason’s heavy breathing, Will waited for anymore tell-tale signs that he was going to make a move. Instead of attacking, Mason hissed angrily, flicking the bowl out so it smashed and tumbled onto Will’s lap.

“A priest _will_ eat properly,” Mason said and sulked out. Will turned around to see Hannibal had risen from his table, eyeing Will. That was when Will finally noticed that the room was _still_ silent. The laughter had died and everyone cast sideway glances between each other.

Will got to his feet and began picking up the broken bowl, feeling heavy glances on his shoulder.

“You don’t need to do that,” Beverly said as she neared him, her hand delicate against his wrist. She was on her knees, her fingers already moving to take the broken shards into her skirt. “I’ll do it. Go get some new pants.”

Will hesitated, taking her in for a moment and tried his best to muster half a smile. Getting to his feet, he tried to head out without being noticed by Hannibal. But the man soon matched his stride in a couple of seconds and his fingers brushed lightly against Will’s. A question hung on Hannibal’s lips as he waited for Will’s response. When Will didn’t humour him, Hannibal finally asked, “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Will replied as he walked away. He didn’t want to be here, he didn’t want Hannibal to see him like this.  All he wanted was Hannibal to see him on days where he could cope, on days where he was happy. Here, it was exactly like the beginning of their relationship. Will was vulnerable.

“You do not appear well, is something ailing you?”

Hannibal’s words were always hard to translate. A couple of months ago, they had been simpler, but now, with Will’s increased proficiency, Hannibal was able to converse in his usual tone. The two had exchanged languages, when Alana and his children were asleep. They talked to each other each night until the candle had burnt out. Will exchanged his stories, of Northumbria, of _Paris_ , and Hannibal gave his own.

They were now like old friends, ready to see the dawn.

 Tonight, as he stood in the wake of the setting sun, he closed his eyes. “Perhaps it is _Mason_.”

“Let me tell you a story,” Hannibal said, running a hand along Will’s shoulder. He brought the man close and kept his mouth close to his ear. Then with deft fingers, he unclasped the eyepatch, letting it fall loose against Will’s shoulder. Will gasped as Hannibal angled the scarred eye to him. Without thinking, he lifted a hand to trace the scar. It was hot against the pads of his fingers. As Hannibal’s leg went between Will’s, his hand against the wall.

“I met Mason perhaps many months ago.”

He was close. Will’s heart hammered in his chest and he furrowed his brows in confusion.

“They were both hungry, outcast from their previous community. When I first saw Margot, she had bruises along her face,” he stopped, his other hand was wrapped around Will’s waist. “And I immediately knew who had inflicted them. So I challenged him. If he wanted to stay, he would have to stop. A couple of days later, they didn’t stop. He had found more subjects to torment.”

Hannibal’s voice softened and his lips brushed against Will’s softly. The kiss caught him off guard, but it was warm, comforting, like the sun’s rays caressing him on a lazy summer’s day. When he broke away, there was a knowing smile on his lip. Will’s face heated up as he tried his best to look everywhere _but_ at Hannibal. With his index finger, he stroked the growing stubble on Will’s chin.

 “I confronted him, he then took my eye out.”

“Why haven’t you killed him?” Will tried to say but his words were smothered by another kiss.

“I’ll kill him when the time is right.”

“He’ll stop tormenting Margot…”

“The time is not now.”

Will pushed him away. “The time _is_ now Hannibal. You must kill him.”

Hannibal groaned, trying to kiss Will again. “Please. Let’s not talk about this today.”

“Hannibal, you are with another,” Will tried. Then when his knowledge of the language failed him, he managed to muster. “What about the others?”

“For the power, for my curiosity, for a child,” Hannibal said. Then he said in half a whisper, “Please. _Will_.”

“Kill him. Destroy him,” the darkness in his voice was apparent.

Hannibal tilted his head. “Why don’t you?”

“Maybe I will.”

With eyes that burned furiously, he glared at Hannibal with newfound determination.

Switching back into English, he said, “I’m going to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I've been away for so long - I had exams sighs. 
> 
> But yes, a time skip!


	5. Chapter 5

Freddie’s hut was by the river, away from most people of their camp. You only came to Freddie’s hut if you were desperate, or if you wanted to know what the Gods saw. Hannibal entered periodically and exited with the world on his shoulders. Alana knew that he found her hard to handle, but he was not one to ignore the signs. Swallowing hard, Alana rubbed sweaty palms against her trousers, her heart beating sporadically in her chest.

Alana’s hand was by the curtains, hesitating before she entered. Her feet led her towards the hut, her mind on the border between unwillingness and curiosity. She steadied her beating heart, rolling her head as she calmed herself. Finally, she pushed through the curtained door and coughed lightly into her fist, declaring her presence.

“ _Alana,”_ Freddie’s voice was distant. She was seated by the fire, her legs crossed. With her eyes still closed, she gestured out beside her. “ _You have questions for me.”_

It was not a question but Alana still nodded in response.

“ _You told Hannibal that the last child I bear will be a stillborn,”_ Alana said slowly. The memory was like a ghost haunting her. The child had not cried at all. “ _You told him that –“_

“ _Indeed. You will not bear any more children for Hannibal.”_

“ _He needs another son.”_

_“But not from you,”_ Freddie breathed through her nose and proffered a drink. Alana politely declined.

“ _You also said that he will find a man who will guide him and expand his kingdom.”_

_“That man is with us now.”_

_“The two of them. Together.”_

Freddie looked back at Alana, eyes glistening with amusement. _“They will be kings.”_

_“Does this mean that I will not share the throne with him?”_ Alana’s voice hitched in her throat. They were meant to be there until the end, she was _his_ shield maiden. Their futures were meant to be together. She had helped him rise to the top, take down the previous leader and become _King_.

_“What do you think?”_

_“I –“_

_“Are you still useful to him?”_

_“Does he not love me?”_

A long, high pitched laugh escaped Freddie’s lips. She pushed back her fiery hair and tipped her blue eyes to the ceiling. Alana caught blood on the side of her face and the vials of unknown liquid just behind her. _“Hannibal does not love anyone. If you believe he loves you then you are a fool.”_

“ _Freyja –“_ Alana tried protesting.

_“There will only be one person who Hannibal loves.”_

Her heart sank at the thought. “ _Who?”_

A small, amused smile was on Freddie’s lips. She waved Alana away with a flick of her hand, but the woman loitered for a while longer, her heart fluttering in her chest as she blinked rapidly.

 

* * *

 

 

The only light that guided him through the night was the moon. The stars cowered behind the clouds and the cold breeze made his hands shake as he held the weapon. The trees stood strong and the shadowy boughs shivered. The silence was strangely _loud_ , with only leaves rustling and cicadas making their rounds. And everything was still, as if a spell had been cast over the land, waiting and expectant of Will’s grim task.

In the distance, was Mason’s hut. It was barely illuminated, with one candle casting a pale light through the slightly drawn curtains. Will slowly made his way towards the hut, taking care to not step on anything that could draw attention to him. He moved with fluidity he hadn’t experienced before and determination he had never felt.

For the most part, it was liberating. To be able to do something that was outside of what was needed. To be able to do something that _he_ wanted to do.

Sidling on the edge of the hut, he listened to the faint moans and loud thumping. Mason’s voice was uncharacteristically gruff. Soon, the noises subsided and Will peeked through the curtains. Inside, Mason’s mop of hair was still entangled in woman’s hands, their legs knotted around each other. Will evened out his breathing as he counted to ten. The cold metal against his hand was _his_ will to carry out this task. It grounded him. It gave him strength.

As soon as he was about to make his move, a rustle made him fling out in response. He cried in pain, but warm hands covered his mouth as a large, muscular body gripped him. He pressed him against the wall and Will tried his best to buck and move, break free.

Do _whatever_ he could. This person was out to stop him from killing Mason. This person was the voice of reason that Will had ignored his entire hike to Mason’s hut. He wasn’t going to let the person destroy what he had spent hours convincing himself that it was the _right_ decision.

“Sh, it’s me,” the man behind him said. “Stay quiet.”

He loosened his hold and Will breathed out heavily as he turned around to see a familiar black haired man behind him.

Will almost lost the grip on his knife. “Matthew?”

Something that flickered in Will’s face made Matthew smile forlornly. “Will, are you sure you want to do this?”

The priest angled his head and gripped the knife tighter, holding it close to Matthew’s neck. The man visibly stiffened and as he tried to calm Will down, the priest flicked the blade dangerously closer.

Will’s eyes narrowed. “Did Hannibal send you?”

“He didn’t,” the Viking replied. “Put the knife down, I’m not here to stop you. Your business is your business.”

“Then why are you here?” Will kneed the man’s stomach and said the next words around the corners of his teeth.

“I’m here to warn you,” Matthew sighed. “Mason is strong, you are not.”

“I am stronger than I was before,” Will replied.

“But are you strong enough?” Matthew said. His words teetered on the edge of truth, enough for Will to painfully accept the reality of the situation. He loosened his hold on Matthew and sighed, crouching beside the door of the hut. Their breaths tangled in their air around them as their silence was filled by a couple more moans and loud movements. The woman and Mason were surrounded in heavy bliss while Matthew and Will were surrounded by the frigid air of the night.

“You have so much to lose if you do this,” Matthew said quietly. “Let me be the knife that administers your justice.”

“But you are killing your own,” Will replied. “That — “

“It does not mean much, priest,” Matthew smiled. “You and I are hawks. We should stick together.”

“Then what is the plan?” Will replied.

From his sleeves, the metal blade caught the moonlight and glinted. The ivory handle sat in Matthew’s palm and a furtive smile was on the corner of his lips. “I will take Mason, you make sure the woman doesn’t scream.”

“No,” Will eyed Matthew. He nodded to the hut. “ _I_ take Mason, you make sure the woman doesn’t scream.”

Matthew’s eyes dripped over Will as he sized him up. His lips thinned and reluctantly, he nodded. There was a question that hung on Matthew’s shoulders that went unspoken. Will wanted to ask but he realised that they were just wasting more time standing out here.

Will was the first one to move, keeping as close as he could to the wall of the hut, he edged closer to the door. The activities inside had ground to a halt and Will brought the curtains back a tiny bit, to peer inside.

The hut was near empty, save for the bed and the bearskin rug that was on the ground. Mason and the woman were in a tangle on the bed, their breathing heavy as they regained their composure. Between their mumbles, Will made his way inside. As he got closer to the bed, he brought his mouth close to the sole light source of the room. He turned to face Matthew who nodded.

“Hey? Did you blow the light out, Mason?” The feminine voice asked.

“Probably just the wind, darling,” Mason murmured.

“Did you hear that? There’s someone else in here.”

“Maybe just a squirrel.”

Will found his tormentor’s body easily in the darkness. Just as Will pinned Mason down on the bed, the woman’s screams were muffled by strong hands and she was hoisted away from the danger zone. Will grabbed both his arms as he took his time to draw the knife across the man’s neck. The blood dripped down the man’s neck as he tried struggling, but the surprise had still not worn off and he was still under the priest’s mercy.

But before he tried to administer the killing blow, he stopped, realising what it was he was about to do. He was about to take away another man’s life. It was God’s duty to do that, not his own.

He was about to move away when Mason’s voice reminded him of his mission.

“Priest?” Mason said with clear shock and confusion. “Priest, you’re trying to kill me? Oh how pitiful that you’re not taking me _one_ on _one._ ”

“Will, what are you doing?” Matthew’s voice drew him further into his spiral of thoughts. He was hesitating, he was _confused_. Was it right to kill this man?

His palms became sweaty and his grip on his knife loosened. At that opportunity, Mason pushed him off the bed and he landed on the ground with a loud thump. His shoulder blades flared up with pain and a loud resonating crack rumbled in the hut. Will scrambled to his feet and stood en garde.

The breath let him as he let his eyes relax to the darkness, seeing the silhouette saunter towards him. Mason’s confidence still exuded from him. It was the same confidence that Will had grown to despise. He chewed the inside of his cheek, quietly wondering what would happen if he didn’t kill Mason, wondering what would happen if he failed.

He would probably die.

“You wanted to kill me?” Mason laughed. “You know what happens when you kill me, don’t you?”

Will hesitated before flinging out. Mason caught Will’s arm and tried to reach for the knife, prising it free from his grip. Will kneed Mason in the groin and the man cried out in pain. The two fell to the ground and he pinned Mason’s arms down with all the strength he could muster. Anger ran through his veins and he was about to make another move before Mason’s voice stopped him.

“You’ll have to eat me,” Mason grinned, despite the clear pain he was in. “Are you sure you want to eat me? I know how much you hate eating human meat.”

Will didn’t say anything. Instead he let the knife sink deeper through the man’s throat. Mason gurgled, blood spewing from his mouth as it dripped down his chin. Shock and fear radiated through his eyes as he tried to thrash, tried to move. His heartbeat fluttered like a bird in a cage, trying to escape. With one last valiant effort, the man pushed Will to the ground, eyes wide and animalistic as he glared back at Will, leaning over him.

He tried to open his mouth but no words came out. He clutched at his throat, hiccupping as he failed to take in more breaths.

As Will pulled the knife across his neck, the struggling stopped. The man’s heartbeat slowed until it stopped completely. Will pulled away, his breathing heavy as he realised the implications of what he had done.

He had just killed Mason Verger.

Did the man deserve it? All the questions came rushing in at once.

“A priest has just killed his first,” Matthew whispered. The woman in his arms fell to her knees and began crying, but Matthew didn’t seem to mind anymore. “You’re one of us now.”

Trembling, Will raised his hands and stared at the blood that coated his hands. The faint smell of iron filled the air and his stomach gurgled. He ran outside of the hut, sucking in the fresh air as the fear ground at the resolve in his heart. But no matter how hard he breathed, he could not still his heart, he could not calm himself down.

“I’ve just killed someone,” Will said quietly to himself. Saying it aloud made it feel even more real. “I killed Mason Verger.”

A part of him regretted the decision. It was selfish of him to have taken a life because he hated the man who tormented him. But another part of him enjoyed it. He enjoyed watching as Mason’s life faded from existence, he enjoyed plunging the knife further into his neck, and most of all he _enjoyed_ having Mason’s blood on him. That part of him disgusted him.

“What do you fear?” Matthew said as he took his position beside him. He seemed strangely calm for what had just transpired.

“I enjoyed it,” Will said, his bottom lip quivering. “I enjoyed kill him.”

“We all enjoy the fleeting moments of power,” Matthew replied. “This is nothing new.”

Will looked down at his hands. The blood on his hands was beginning to dry up. As he raised it to the sky to catch the moonlight, he squinted. The blood really did look red in the moonlight.

“You also fear something else,” Matthew said. It wasn’t a question.

After a moment of silence, Will said, “I fear the judgement of my god.”

There was legitimate curiosity in Matthew’s expression. He waited for Will to say something but when he didn’t, he prompted Will with a question. “Why?”

“Because I am not meant to kill.” Will turned to face Matthew. The man’s face was half in the shadow and half in the moonlight, enough for Will to see his beady eyes surveying him with amusement.

“Gods kill all the time,” Matthew replied. “And are we not made in their likeness?”

Will shook his head. “My god is kind, _my_ god does not kill.”

“All gods kill, Will,” Matthew said as he placed his hand on his shoulder. Will didn’t realise how badly he was shaking. It was the first time he had ever taken a life and it was a life that didn’t belong to him no matter how much he wanted to believe. “All gods are just like us.”

It wasn’t _his_ life to take.

“Well done.” Matthew led Will down the path back to the rest of the camp. “Hannibal will be proud.”

Will’s eyes widened as he realised. This had been Hannibal’s plan all along. He wanted Will to kill another. Will swallowed hard, casting one final glance at the hut behind him. The body was still there, lying on the ground, limp.

Will realised that he would never forget the blue eyes as they stared back at him, mocking him for the decision he had just made.

 

 


	6. Chapter 6

 “Could you please repeat what you said, Matthew,” Hannibal said, his statement was directed at Matthew but his gaze was still on Will. It was as if he was sizing him up, trying to find the truth in the sentence.

They had woken him up moments before. Matthew entered the hut slowly and stepped past the children and made his way to Hannibal's bedside. He had gently shook the man until he woke. Despite it being an ungodly hour in the morning, Hannibal was not surprised. In a sleepy haze, he was already outside, expecting someone other than Will. His apparent surprise was something that Will had never experienced before. 

Matthew’s voice was still and calm. “Will killed Mason Verger, my lord.”

Will shivered under his gaze and he looked at the ground. At anywhere _but_ Hannibal. He moved on the balls of his feet and his hands wrung together. Part of him _knew_ that it was Hannibal’s plan, but the other part of him wanted the Viking to be surprised. He wanted Hannibal to know that he had tainted his _priest_ and brought him to the edge of killing.

"Mason Verger is dead," Will replied, trying to fill the silence with something other than his frightened breath. 

Hannibal angled his head back to Matthew, who bowed diligently.

“He truly did, my king,” Matthew said, his voice barely above a whisper. "We can show you the body." 

Hannibal pushed his hands through his hair and held up a finger as he pushed back through the curtained doors.

Matthew and Will stood outside, waiting, with Will’s eyes moving back to his hands. He remembered _exactly_ how it felt, squeezing the life out of the man. The hatred he felt for Mason Verger coming all at once and setting his strength.

Hannibal emerged from his hut with a large cloak covering his bare torso. He still had not put his eyepatch on and Will had a feeling that he wasn’t going to. 

“Show me,” he said as he shifted his cloak closer to himself. The wind had increased around them and buffeted at his cloak. Hannibal lifted his head up and settled his shoulders back, confidence and, if Will wasn’t mistaken, _pride_. There was a certain way that his eyes shone, something that he _knew_ Hannibal would never admit, but it certainly _was_ there. "Before  _she_ wakes." 

With only the moon as their light source, the walk back to Mason’s hut was done in silence. Will breathed in and out, his breath acting as a metronome to still his anxiety. Maybe by the time they got there, Mason would be alive again, Mason would be ready to kill him. _Maybe_ —

He caught Matthew’s eye. The other Viking tipped his head down and hid a smile behind his eyes that said _it will be fine._

Once they stood outside, Will was about to take a step, but was stopped when Hannibal raised his hand.

“You both will stay outside,” he announced.

Matthew bowed again and Will took a step back. Once Hannibal disappeared inside, his grip on his nerves fled him.

“What if —“

“Hush,” Matthew said quietly. He placed a hand on Will’s shoulder. “You are not in the wrong.”

“I have to do it, don’t I?” Will asked.

There was sorrow in Matthew’s expression. “You do not have to. But this is the only path you can take, right now.”

“What if I can’t do it?” Will breathed. “What if I —“

“You can,” Matthew placed a hand on his shoulder. It was comforting and it unknotted some of the tension in his shoulders. “I believe in you.”

Hannibal emerged from the hut with the body limp across his shoulders. The blood had dried up around Mason’s neck but as Hannibal moved down the path, Will caught that Mason’s eyes were still very much open. The same _expression_ was on his face. It mocked him, it taunted him. It told him that he was the one who took his life, that he was the one who defied _his_ laws and fell into the laws of the barbarians.

“Congratulations,” Hannibal said. He held out his hand. “You did it, you finally killed Mason Verger.”

Will let out a breath he was holding and gripped his forearm. “Is that it?”

Hannibal cocked his head in curiosity, but he let the silence hang in front of them, his movement patiently waiting for Will to continue.

“I believe that you have done well,” Hannibal said. “I was waiting for the perfect opportunity to get rid of him. And I believe you have done exactly that.”

“You were _waiting?”_ Will breathed out.

Hannibal nodded. He dropped the body ceremoniously on the ground and handed his knife hilt first to Will. “You are to make the first cut.”

“What?” Will blanched but he took the knife nonetheless. It sat heavy in his hands, like another weapon that would make him tumble back to their side, become _one of them_ when all he wanted to do was go home. He gritted his teeth, pushing those thoughts to the back of his mind. If he wanted to survive, he was going to have to _adapt_.

“A man who beats another in battle,” Hannibal started. “Must make the first cut.”

Will knelt beside the body as he looked back up at Matthew who nodded, giving him permission.

On the walk back to Hannibal’s hut, he had told Will what he needed to do when Hannibal saw the body. He went through every single technique — which was the best way to cut the meat, which part was the one he wanted to eat first. But holding the knife and watching the lifeless body beneath him was not something he had ever imagined.

Sucking in a deep breath, he angled the knife and began carving into the chest. Blood pooled around him, still strangely warm. It seeped into his clothes and stained his hands red, but he bit past the moments of panic. If he could _truly_ get Hannibal to trust him, then he would have to do this and he would have to do this without thinking too much of it.

A part of him wondered who Matthew had to kill to gain Hannibal’s trust.

“Which part are you going to take?” Hannibal asked. There was excitement that graced his voice, one that Will had not heard before. “What part is your prize?”

Will prised past the sternum and pulled Mason’s chest apart, staring at what made a human being. It was strange, to see all the skin pushed away onto reveal delicate organs rattling inside. Every terrible deed Mason had pulled, every man he had killed, every woman he had raped, was made using these body parts.

“Fragile creatures, aren’t we?” Hannibal said. He leaned against the hut wall, watching Will with cool detachment. “He was so crass, he thought himself strong. And yet, he did not listen to the music of the night, he did not notice _you_.”

Will pushed past the lungs, past everything until he found Mason’s heart. The smell of blood reached his nose and for a split second, he wanted to vomit, he wanted to expel whatever little contents he had in his stomach out. But he couldn’t, he had to persevere.

His hand clutched the heart in Mason’s chest and he eyed it carefully, trying to muster up some sort of collectedness before he continued. In an explosive movement, he tore out Mason’s heart. It sat on his palm, slimy and dripping with far more blood than he had wanted. He wasn’t even sure what he was expecting but it certainly was not this. Will’s own heart trembled in his chest at the thought of what he was about to do, at the thought of what he _needed_ to do.

“The heart?” Hannibal lifted his eyebrows with curiosity. The corner of his lips tugged with newfound amusement and Will was ready to drop the heart but out of sheer desperation, he managed to maintain his grip. “Brave boy.”

Matthew next to him nodded again.

Will took a deep breath in.

He held the heart in his two hands and blinked away the tears. He blinked away everything that made him _him._ He swallowed hard and opened his mouth, bringing the heart close to his mouth.

The taste of a heart was odd. The first piece sat heavy on his lips. It was rubbery, it was —

He continued chewing, trying to ignore the sensation on his tongue. His lips went numb but he had to keep going. It grew easier with time. The movement was autonomous and the part that scared him was the part that started enjoying the act. He got to the last part and squeezed his eyes firmly shut.

Nausea crashed into him like a tidal wave. It almost knocked him off balance and soon his blooded hand found its way on the ground. Sand coated it and he began coughing. Matthew was about to run to his side, but Hannibal raised a hand that stopped him.

Will looked back up at the two of them, his eyes pleading. “Water.”

“Only once you have finished,” Hannibal said. The water skin hung on his shoulder and even under such little light, Hannibal was engrossed in the activity. His eye was wide open, his shoulders were tense and he leaned forward with anticipation.

 “Please,” Will whispered. “Hannibal…”

Hannibal shook his head. “Not until you’ve finished.”

The last part of the organ was still in his other hand. But the sweat was beginning to accumulate on his forehead and his curls were tangled in his vision. He curled in on himself, trying his best to keep down everything he had consumed in the last ten minutes down. He blinked twice, eyes wide as he titled his head back.

With the last bit of energy in his system, he managed to chew. He chewed violently and quickly. He didn’t care how graceful he looked, he didn’t care about anything anymore. Just that it was done.

All he wanted to be was _finished_.

When he swallowed, his cheek hit the sand out of exhaustion. He could barely feel his fingertips and he could barely see out in front of him. The world was melting into watery hues, but he didn’t care. He had finally done it. He had finally accomplished what he had meant to do all those months before.

“And,” Hannibal said as he sat on his haunches beside the fallen priest. “You are now one of us.”

He held out the water skin and lifted Will’s chin. Will guzzled it down as quickly as he could, finally able to wash the taste of blood from his mouth. He wondered how he looked. Covered in blood, next to a body that he had just ripped the heart out of, it must have been a sight to see. But to Hannibal and Matthew, it looked as if this was a normal occurrence for them.

“It gets easier after that,” Hannibal said. He stroked Will’s cheek gently and pushed the curls from his face.

When he drew away, Will’s eyes glazed over and despite himself, he began to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr ](http://the-teacupshatters.tumblr.com/)  
>  I do requests, so feel free to shoot me a message between chapter updates c:


	7. Chapter 7

Will leaned on the wall, sweat trickling down his face. The sun was now at the centre of the sky and the seasons had shifted into summer. Time was travelling way too fast, he thought quietly to himself. With the back of his hand, he wiped the sweat from his brow.

Bjarke was by the tree, practicing some thrusts and parries. He moved with the precision that Will could never mimic, but he had been practicing since he could hold a sword. It was useless to compare himself to him, seeing as he had only held a sword a couple of months ago, but he couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t improving fast enough.

His wooden sword was clattered uselessly on the ground beside him. Alana was by his side, thrusting a waterskin into his chest. If he hadn’t been against the wall, the force would have let him stumble back a little.

He swallowed back his unease, wondering what he had done to annoy Alana. She currently was clouded, sombre darkness encompassing her as the storm slowly raged on. At some point, lighting was going to strike, and he hoped that he wasn’t going to be in the way when it did.

“Are we going to continue for today?” she spat.

Her usual relaxed manner had changed significantly over the last few weeks. She had gone from sneering and scorning him, to something else. The more he tried to read between the lines, the more his brows furrowed in confusion. He was, at the very least, certain that she had some sort of new vendetta against him. Between her hushed whispers with Margot and their sidelong glances at Will, he inferred that they were up to something. Something that he wasn’t meant to know about.

But then again, everyone had treated him differently since he mutilated and murdered Mason. Mason. During meal times, Hannibal would always beckon him over and curtly nod when he sat next to him. There was something else in his eyes, something other than _curiosity._ It took Will a couple of days to put a word on it. It was pride.

Fire burned inside Hannibal’s gaze, a sort of fuelled passion that wasn’t found in mere friendship. The bridge that divided them had been drawn and Will saw that there was no going back. Even the other Vikings treated him differently. There were rough nudges, mumbled words, and jokes made to him.

The jokes were not made _against_ him, they were made _for_ him. No one even called him _priest_ anymore.

 “That’s enough for today,” Hannibal said, declaring his presence. He stepped from the shade of a tree and lowered his eyepatch back to cover the scars. He moved closer to them, though his voice was still commandeering. He could never shake the leader off from his shoulder. He wore it like a mask until he himself had become the mask.

He angled his head to Alana, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I must talk to Will alone, Alana.”

“As you wish, _my king_ ,” she said, bowing, hand mockingly pressed to her heart.

“There is no need to call me your king,” Hannibal replied, but his lips were tight around the edges and his eyes had shifted to a warning black.  “You of all people should know that.”

“It seems like that’s all I am to you now,” she said. She was getting more confident by the second. “One of your pawns to use.”

“Alana,” Hannibal replied. His jaw had tightened and he had closed the distance between them. He was now close to Alana, looking down at her. “Pawns are sacrificial players. You are far more valuable than a pawn.”

But she looked back, defiantly, not taking the compliment. “I don’t think you mean that, my lord.”

His bottom lip stuck out a little. “Hm?”

“Are you trying to threaten me, my lord?” Her voice now took a derisive turn and Will was ready to bolt. But Hannibal’s raised hand prevented him from doing so.

“What are you trying to do?” Hannibal’s voice was soft but tighter and sharper than ever.  

“I won’t compete,” she hissed. She gestured with a raised hand at Will. “I won’t compete against him. I know when I am no longer wanted.”

 “Alana…” Hannibal sighed, his expression replaced by sheer weariness. “I don’t know what you’re trying to say.”

“You know exactly what I’m trying to say,” she said. With a huff, she left, a strong hand at the base of Bjarke’s neck, leading him away from the area. At first he tried protesting, but at his mother’s pointed stare, he looked back at Will, waving him a small goodbye.

Will raised his hand in farewell. The idea of family was strange to him. Living with his father had never been easy and he had escaped his father’s wrath by finding the church. That life was never familial to Will, it had always just been a reprieve.

Hannibal watched her leave with an expression of dismay. “She thinks I cannot read her. I fear she is correct.”

“It is hard to read many people, sir,” Will replied.

“You don’t find it difficult,” Hannibal said. At Will’s confusion, he explained himself. “I see you doing it all the time. I see you looking at people, wondering what makes them tick, wondering what you need to do to keep yourself alive. You’re a survivor, Will. I like that about you.”

_I’m an adapter_. He wanted to say but he kept his mouth shut out of respect.

“You’ve also lost your accent,” he responded.

Will began to tense, knowing that often compliments led to favours.

“And you are now wearing your hair like the men of the north,” he noted.

Will nodded slowly. He had grown it out and tied it into a tight braid to the side. Matthew had jokingly said that all he needed now was a tattoo but he declined almost immediately. A tattoo was binding, a tattoo meant _a vow_ that he was not ready to take.

Hannibal’s fingers unfurled like a fan, revealing a peach that had been tucked away neatly. “I’ve noticed that they’re your favourite.”

“Thank you,” Will said. Gifts also led to bigger favours. They were bribes.

He pulled out the small knife he kept on him. Matthew had given him the gift a couple of weeks before, as a congratulatory measure for killing Mason. The hilt was ivory and the blade was sharp. If he was not careful with the way it pointed, he could hurt himself badly. But it sat in a small sheath on his side and he always kept it within an arms’ reach.

Ever since Mason’s death, he had become more paranoid about other people trying to seek revenge. So far, no one has stepped foot in his hut — Mason’s old place — but he knew that it was only a matter of time until someone decided to try their luck.

He peeled the skin off first in ringlets — part of the peach he didn’t quite like up here. The skin on their peaches was way too fuzzy, but the explosive sweetness was pretty much the same. Every time he had one, it reminded him of home. It reminded him of his childhood, sneaking into the neighbour’s back garden and taking as much as he could stuff into his rucksack before leaving. It often resulted in him getting into a lot of trouble with his father, but it was worth it.

“I want to talk to you about returning to Northumbria,” Hannibal started. He stopped in the midst of a cut, freezing. Hope is a beast with feathers and Hannibal was finally giving it wings.

“You want to raid again?” Will asked.

“I don’t want to raid,” Hannibal replied.

Will placed the segment in his mouth and began chewing. Despite having had to eat _their_ meat in order to survive, he found that he preferred the freshness of fruit like these. “Then what do you want to do?”

Hannibal maintained his silence. He was waiting for Will to make the deduction. He was waiting for Will to read him. For Will to _see_ him. Will swallowed with deliberation, watching the way Hannibal’s chest rose and fell.

“You want to do something,” Will replied. It was slow as he mulled over the words between his short cuts. “You want to do something that your people have never done before.”

“Very good,” Hannibal said, his eyes glinting. “What do I want, Will?”

“What you’ve always wanted,” he replied as if it was obvious. “Power.”

“The power is in our gods who have created the world we see around us. It is the standard that all men must live up to, but many die before they are elevated to … _god_.”

“You have been inspired by my stories, Hannibal,” Will replied. “King Jack has a large army. He is hard to defeat in battle.”

Patiently, Hannibal said, “What do you know about fighting?”

“I don’t know much,” Will admitted. He flicked the peach’s stone away from him. “But I do know numbers. And King Jack has _never_ lost a battle.”

“You must tell me everything you know. I would like to scope out the area before we start our attack.”

“Why?”

Hannibal sighed. With his thumb, he traced his finger across Will’s lips, wiping the peach juice. He looked at them from a second and then moved his hand away. “Winter is getting colder and colder. We do not have the supplies to survive the following winter. We need to head south.”

Will addressed the question that he was worried Hannibal would have an answer to. “How are you certain I will not betray you when we get there?”

“I’m not,” Hannibal licked his lips. There was a certain longing, a certain yearning in his gaze. Will’s breath shook and he moved back subconsciously. “But I do know what it is like to have a friend for dinner.”

“You would kill me before I had a chance to betray you,” Will replied. Of course Hannibal had an answer.

“The tapestry of our lives have been woven together,” Hannibal sighed. “If I could, I would like to see you as my commanding officer.”

“I don’t know anything about battle, Hannibal,” Will said.

“You are to advise me. About Northumbria. No one knows better than you do.”

Will began to protest. “I don’t know a thing about fighting large groups of people.”

“I will teach you,” Hannibal said. He reached for the two wooden swords on the ground and handed Will one, hilt first.

“There are things Alana does not teach you,” he said. He got to his haunches and straightened his back. “There are things that she herself does not know, even if she is a fine shield maiden.”

Will mimicked him, still unsure when to react. A split second later, Hannibal’s sword tapped Will’s stomach. Will cursed underneath his breath and tried moving away.

“You cannot fight like that, Will,” Hannibal said. “When on the ground, men will come at you at all angles. You have got the technique of a duellist.”

“Aren’t we having a duel?” Will questioned.

Hannibal’s lips curled. “It appears we are.”

Will kept his breath even as he circled Hannibal. The two of them were locked in a dance and the more time passed, the more Will’s heart raced. Their swords hit rhythmically and their steps began to become the same. It was easy for Will to figure out when Hannibal was going to strike next. _Knowing_ a person meant that you _knew_ their fighting style because their personality burst through each move they made.

Hannibal was calculating. He would take openings quickly and he would swing with small flicks of his wrists. Will had watched him when he sparred with Matthew. The two of them were equals when it came to technique but most of the time, it resulted in Hannibal winning. Hannibal bided his time, Matthew wanted to get them done quickly.

It was a matter of time before one of them slipped up. Will lunged forward, making Hannibal sidestep easily out of the way. He kicked at Will’s chest with his boot.

The air rushed out of his chest all at once and he found himself on the ground, his breath getting stuck in his throat. His vision faded for a split second and when it came back, he found Hannibal was standing over him, with his wooden sword pointed at his neck. He leaned down, close enough for Will to feel his hot breath on his face.

The two of them shared this proximity for a couple of moments and Will’s heart raced in his chest. He wanted to move forward, he wanted to cross the threshold. They had never spoke of the intimacy they had nights before, but Will had only dismissed that for Hannibal’s perception being distorted by alcohol.

Here, it was undeniable. The tension between the two was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Then all of a sudden, Hannibal turned away, breaking the spell. “I will teach you other techniques of battle. One that will guarantee your win.”

“Sure,” Will nodded.

“In exchange for more information about Jack’s army. His officers… and their fighting style.”

“How are you certain I know about their fighting style?” Will asked quietly.

“Because…” Hannibal lowered his voice. “I see you mimic the style of whoever you’re fighting. You do not fight like this when you are with Alana. You know people. You analyse people, and you know how to get people to behave how you want. Am I correct?”

Will shrugged.

“This was not the Will Graham I first met. You’ve changed. Something about you has snapped.” He held out his hand. Will grabbed it. “And I like this Will a lot more.”

Will sighed as he took his hand. He noted that Hannibal’s heart was thundering as well. Even though his expression remained neutral, his eyes betrayed him. There was wanting, _longing_ beneath them. Like he wanted to make a move, but his _pride_ and _honour_ intact.

“You have emerged from the chrysalis triumphant. I know you will triumph more in the future,” Hannibal said, sighing. “I just hope that you will share your successes with me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A less intense chapter than the last one, but setting up the new leg of the story c:


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack, here's an update for anyone who still cares?

“Ah, Hannibal,” Freddie’s voice was as thick as honey. She sat in the corner of her hut, framed by the setting light and surrounded by a ring of candles. She tilted her head back to reveal newly formed cuts lining her face, drying blood flaking off as she moved. “I thought you’d come today.”

He pushed the curtains aside and took a step into her hurt, hesitating slightly upon entering. This wasn't  _his_ space. It was one of the few places that Hannibal  _didn't_ control in the village. It occasionally scared him, how wild and how unpredictable Freddie could be. But today was not the day to be scared about the unknown. Today was the day to find answers. 

He folded his arms across his chest, the linen of his shirt a little scratchy on his back. He maintained an air of calm that he usually reserved for Freddie Louds, the vǫlva.

“You have not travelled for a while, Freddie,” Hannibal said. He sat down on the sheepskin rug, his eyes fluttering closed as he listened quietly for her heavy breathing.

“I have travelled far,” she said leaning forward. She held a finger to her head and twisted it. “I have travelled in here.”

Hannibal opened his eyes when he sensed their proximity and angled his neck up to stop her from getting any closer. The reason he came to visit Freddie was always the same: the desire to _know_. It clung to him like a second skin. As he looked out to the future, with plans on the horizon, he needed to _know_ how they were going to be challenged. It was one thing knowing the people around you, but it was another to be able to _know_ what the world around you thought about your quest.

Her hands moved in a way that blurred, until she finally stopped, a hand resting above the candle in front of them. She lowered her hand until she extinguished the flame, flipping it over to reveal a blistering palm.

“Perhaps I don’t wish to tell you the future,” she said.

“Why not?” Hannibal’s question hung between them like smoke.

She tilted her head. “Because even I’m afraid for the future.”

Hannibal leaned forward. The two of them were close now, with Hannibal’s hands on her forearms, gripping them with enough force that left his handprints on them.

“What future are you afraid of? The one where you die?”

She laughed, abrupt and witch-like. Hannibal winced. Sometimes she talked in riddles, sometimes she talked in horribly straight lines. It took a couple of days of wondering, a couple of days of _thinking_ until he cracked it. Until the answer hit him like a rock slicing water.

“I only see sorrows,” Freddie whispered, her voice barely audible.

Hannibal swallowed, keeping his expression carefully neutral. He played with his eyepatch, rimming it with his fingers as he considered his options. “What else do you see?”

“I see a king. I see a land of marble and a raven flying away — I see two ships disappearing into the mist and I see an _end_ ,” she breathed. “I see crowns of thorns and a banquet for a king.”

Hannibal leaned back from her. “What does this mean?”

“An answer you must find yourself,” she replied.

Hannibal waited for her to say more, but when she didn’t, he slowly got to his feet. Her back was now turned away from him and he let out a small sigh. Readings like this always made him confused. He never knew how to _feel_ after he heard them. So he chose to mask it, layer it with neutrality until he was certain he had found the answer.

“Be careful,” Freddie said, her voice strangely airy in the hut. “She has a paper heart that can catch fire quickly.”

* * *

 

The horses were saddled and fed. Will stood beside his horse, an off-white mare who enjoyed apples far too much. In his rucksack, he had taken from one of the farmers more apples than he should have. But what the farmer didn’t know could not anger him. His mare nuzzled her head into his shoulder, sniffing out for an apple, but he pushed her aside, murmuring words in English, something she could not understand.

“Later,” Will said, scratching her behind the ears. “When we are further along on the journey.”

“Will!” Matthew’s voice was loud and gruff. He walked down the hill with supplies overfilling his arms. One by one, they both deposited it into the packs on the horses, sharing a companionable silence that only friends could have.

“The trip will hopefully only be a month,” Will replied, addressing the question that went unasked. Matthew’s mouth opened as he tried to piece together what he meant, before he slammed it shut again.

He gave Will one of those smiles, a secret one and he grabbed his hand tenderly, stroking it. “You and Hannibal will be missed.”

Will stared back at Matthew, wondering how a man of such size could look at him like that. Wondering how a man of such size could even be capable of _kindness_. These people, all those months ago, were now close to a family he never had. It was a little liberating, to be able to speak freely without his god hanging over him, judging his moves.

Hannibal came with other supplies. He had a light overcoat draped on his shoulders and his eyepatch hung loosely around his neck. His hair was newly braided and the sides of his head recently shaved. When he got close to Will and Matthew, he arched a curious eyebrow and sent Matthew a threatening glare. The world between the two of them shrunk for the quickest second until Will was certain that he had to intervene.

“When are we planning on leaving to get to Earl Du Maurier?” he asked.

“Soon,” Hannibal said, still not moving his gaze from Matthew.

Will tried again. “What’s that in your hand?”

Hannibal tore his gaze from Matthew and proffered the item to Will. It was another peach. They were rare, especially this far north, and the thought that Hannibal had managed to get another for him made his knees weak. His heartbeat fluttered again and he nodded his silent thanks, pocketing it.

Will turned back to the horse and readjusted the wooden shield. Days before, with him and Bjarke, he had perfected unbuckling the shield from the saddle and protecting himself from any oncoming arrows. The movement was now slick to a point that Will was proud of himself. Bjarke still complained about some of the movements, but the boy was always going to be far more proficient with weaponry than Will. He smiled inwardly to himself and leaned against his mare.

Hannibal’s stallion trotted down the hill, being led by Alana. Her expression was that of pure contempt as she scoffed when she saw Will. The stallion shook his head, his brown mane catching in the sudden burst of wind.

“I leave the village under your command, Matthew,” Hannibal said. “I trust you with what I have built. I wish to not _ever_ come to regret this decision.”

Matthew closed a fist into an open palm, bowing slightly. “You shan’t, my _king.”_

Hannibal nodded to himself. He then turned to Alana. “And you — are to take care of Bjarke.”

She nodded and then pointed an unfurled finger at Will. “Why are you going with him? Why not choose someone else? Like Francis? He will protect you far better than that _priest_ can.”

“He has proven himself many times,” Hannibal said in a way you would coax an angry animal.  

Matthew slipped away and stood by Will’s side again. He placed a hand on his shoulder and held a weapon in between the two of them. Will stared at the blade as it caught the summer sun, shimmering. He held it in his hand, feeling how evenly weighted it was. The pommel had been made to fit his own grip and it had the exact same lithe nature that Will had. He found, after months of practice, that he preferred the lighter weapons and thrusting attacks. Slashing was left to those people who had more strength than he did.

“It’s beautiful,” Will breathed out.

“I have also had it blessed by the gods,” Matthew said. He ran a long finger down the centre of the blade, pointing at the markings that seemed to glow. “May you stay safe on your journeys.”

Will reigned in a smile.

His happiness was quickly shattered by Alana’s loud shout.

“You go find more troops to sail back to Northumbria without _me._ I thought we were a pair. I am a shield-maiden and Will is —“ her eyes narrowed into derision. “Will is nothing.”

“He is more than you’ll ever be,” Hannibal said. His voice had been expressionless but anger clipped the edges of his words short. “I do not think you are in the right mood to talk to me.”

“You choose him over me, then I am not going to stand for this anymore,” she said through gritted teeth.

“I want you safe,” Hannibal said. But Will wasn’t sure he meant it. He could sense the distaste surrounding the king of the Vikings. He could sense that this discussion was something that he wanted in a more private space. “I want you to be here when we claim Northumbria.”

She laughed. It was short and it was static. “No. You want him to be by your side.”

Hannibal sighed quietly to himself. He moved forward and held his hands on either side of her face, but the emotion was lost on him. He was moving like it was a chore, not the way that he had once so tenderly clutched Will’s face and eased him through his night time horrors. Hannibal was only doing what people expected him to do, not what he _wanted_ to do. There was a difference between the Hannibal that he showed the rest of the world, the rest of the village, and the Hannibal that he showed Will. Between their talks of strategy, their laughter and his sheer curiosity about the world outside of this cold land, he was _kind_ to Will. Sure, they had their disagreements. Sure, their religious clashed, but he was never going to strike him.

He only struck his enemies or people who stood against his core beliefs.

When Hannibal kissed Alana, Will felt his heart skip a beat in his chest. He turned away, but not before he could catch Hannibal’s eyes. They betrayed him in that kiss he shared with her. His hunger lied with someone else, not with _her,_ and yet, the jealousy spread through Will like wildfire. He had to turn around. Matthew’s hand brushed his own and he eyed Will with an apologetic glance, but it wasn’t enough.

After what seemed like an eternity, the two of them broke apart. Hannibal rested a hand on Alana’s shoulder and said, “I will be back.”

Will hooked his foot in the stirrup and slid onto the back of his mare, patting her by the neck again. He was rewarded with a loud whinny. Will properly buckled his new sword around his belt and grabbed the reigns.

“Matthew,” Hannibal looked at the other Viking again. “I’m counting on you.”

 

* * *

 

“You have been strangely quiet, Will,” Hannibal noted.

They _had_ rode mostly in silence with Will’s mind returning to that kiss over and over again. How naïve he was to think that their shared nights meant something else. It was true that their relationship couldn’t last. Hannibal trusted him to a certain point, but Will, once he got to Northumbria, had decided he was going to betray him to Jack. He missed the lifestyle he once had. It was a secret that had been festering inside his body for months now. And secrets were dangerous and wild and  _consuming_. 

“Perhaps there is not much to say,” Will replied, shrugging. “We are off to find Earl Du Maurier, after all.”

“But I do miss conversation,” Hannibal said, with a ghost of a smile on his lips.

Their relationship was tenuous, at best. They both needed each other in ways they never imagined, but just one step out of line from the other would cause betrayal beyond imagining.

“What would you like me to talk about?” Will asked, a little strained.

“Will, watch —“ Hannibal shouted. The next moment, Will’s eyes adjusted and he saw that Hannibal and his stallion were in front of him, with Hannibal wincing in pain. He had unsheathed his axe from his back and he was now carefully scanning the world in front.

“There’s an arrow in your arm,” Will said dumbly.

“Will, get your sword out,” Hannibal hissed.

Will fumbled for his sword and eyed the shrubs around them. The next arrow barely missed him. He raised his gaze to see a woman sitting in between two branches in the tree, an arrow notched as she aimed at them both. Will could have cried for Hannibal’s help, but his arm was moving without his consent. He threw the sword at the woman, gasping when it impaled through her stomach, pinning her against the trunk. With shock, she stared at the sword and back at the two people in the forest before slumping.

Hannibal cursed, getting off his horse. He snapped the edge of the arrow and threw it on the ground before jumping up in an attempt to grab Will’s sword. He climbed easily and surely, despite the clear blood loss. Twisting the sword with such force, he dropped it, the sound of clattering steel muffled by the dirt.

As he got to the ground, he moved towards Will, stumbling a little. Will caught him, strong hands holding him up as he stared into his eyes. Hannibal’s arms were shaking and he looked down at the arrowhead still stuck in his arm.

“Get the healing pack,” Hannibal ordered. He lowered his body and sat on one of the tree trunks, his other hand trembling as he tried to pull the arrowhead from his arm. The metal fell to the ground, coated in a layer of blood. But the green swelling around his arm made Will stop suddenly. With the medical pack, he began searching for herbs, anything that would stop the swelling.

“What is it?” Will said quietly.

“Will,” Hannibal breathed as he tilted his head to the sky. “The grind the root and squeeze the juice of one of the leaves.”

Will was already moving, pulling out the motor and pestle. His heartbeat raced in his chest as he slowly went through Hannibal’s orders. He knew more about medical herbs than Will did, he knew when to use them and why you had to use them.

When Will had finished, Hannibal said, almost unheard, “No matter what I do, keep it on the wound.”

Will smashed it onto Hannibal’s arm. The king writhed beneath him, screaming out and kicking until his voice was hoarse. His eyes stared off into the distance, glossy from the pain. Will tried his best to stop listening to the voice in his head that shouted, _it hurts! Get it off him!_ He kept it there, his own eyes firmly on the ground in an attempt to focus on something else. _Anything_ else.

When Hannibal had stopped moving, Will reluctantly lifted his gaze. Their eyes met, and despite the tears that streaked his face, Hannibal smiled.

“Brave boy,” Hannibal said, raising his other hand on Will’s cheek. He shuddered again, his eyes unfocused and weak. “We should get moving. This forest is not a good place to stay for the night.”

But despite that, the two of them stayed where they are. Will focused on the warmth that came from Hannibal’s hand. He moved forward, his other hand dropping the salve. The intensity of Hannibal’s gaze made Will’s breath hitch in his throat.

“The poison should be gone by tomorrow,” Hannibal said.

Will leaned forward, the fear of losing Hannibal making his thoughts hazy. How did times change so quickly? How did _this_ happen of all things? He pressed his lips against Hannibal’s lips and sunk into the pure bliss. They were kissing as if it was the end of the world, as if this would be the last time they were to be together.

When Will broke away from him, his breathing was heavy. He stared again at Hannibal, eyes wide with shock, but the Viking simply tilted his head and gave him one of those _smiles_. A smile that Will would kill people, and destroy kingdoms just to get.

It was a smile he had only seen given to him. It was _his_ secret.

It didn’t belong to anyone else. Not Matthew, not _Alana_.

It was _his_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ tumblr ](https://the-teacupshatters.tumblr.com)  
>  Come say hi?


	9. Chapter 9

They rode for days, sharing words with one another and discussed future plans. Will was still worried about Hannibal’s arm and watched with vigilance at every movement Hannibal made. At every slightest discomfort, Will would bring it up, or he would make sure he would be the one carrying out the task instead.

Between the two of them, Hannibal was the better fighter and had a better chance at protecting them. _Will_ just knew how to swing at random intervals. He hadn’t perfected the nuances of watching when a fighter would reveal his next attack. Despite Hannibal telling him over and over again to watch his opponent’s eyes, and not the sword, he still couldn’t master the fear of looking away from the large steal item being thrown at him.

Their discussion eventually got back to talking about _Jack Crawford_ and his kingdom. Will had never properly seen King _Crawford’s_ army, but he had heard stories of it. Everyone had in Northumbria. He would not have been _king_ if it had not been for his determination and his desire to take control. The man who had the most land was the most powerful. And King Crawford was addicted to power.

His armies were skilful and was led by the best tacticians in _history:_ Price and Preller. There had never been a war he lost and the last time Will was still in Northumbria, the king had planned to take siege of Paris.

The only thing Hannibal had going for him was the fact that they were going to _surprise_ them. No one sailed from the north. The north was known to be desolate and void of humans, a type of hell that churned up empty boats to the shore.

“So you suggest we come from the north?” Hannibal said with his head angled to the forest’s canopy.

Will sat on his haunches, trying to light a fire. He skidded the flints together, but no matter how hard he tried, it wouldn’t _work_. “Yes. It’s where his defences are smallest. We can work our way down to the capital.”

Hannibal rubbed his hands together. “Here, let me do that.”

Will reluctantly handed over the flint to Hannibal who took it. Despite his arm still being weak from the poison, he struck it easily. The small embers caught on the tinder and Will leaned down, blowing it gently. A couple of minutes later, a hearty fire sat between them, illuminating half their faces.

It was a relief to have fire. It was better than relying on body heat alone. Will grabbed the two cups and sat them on the fire with some water, sprinkling leaves inside one of them. The leaves were a painkiller, at least that’s what Hannibal said. Will found it relaxed Hannibal’s tongue, however, and he often eagerly waited for this moment of their rides, where he could hear more stories about the man.

“What’s it like at the capital?” Hannibal asked. He picked up his cup from the flame and cradled it between his two hands. The Viking took a long sip, letting out a satisfied noise. “You’re getting better at this.”

Will passed him some of the dried meat, which Hannibal declined with a light shake of his head.

“The capital is…” Will started. He hadn’t been for years — at least, ever since he first became a priest. It was a place of glory, a place where the rich stayed. It was _beautiful_ to say the least. But Will had no idea how to put it in words, words that _weren’t_ English. He had improved a lot, but he still was unable to catch idiomatic nuances in words. He lowered his gaze. “Beautiful.”

“Can you describe it better than that?” Hannibal asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

Will shook his head. “I cannot in your language.”

“Then tell me in yours,” Hannibal said. 

“I fear you won’t understand what I say.”

“Try me.”

So Will described it, watching as the line between Hannibal’s eyebrows deepened while he struggled to translate meaning.

“It sounds beautiful,” Hannibal said in English, his voice hoarse, like he had not spoken in Will’s native tongue for so long. But it was true. Will had picked up Hannibal’s language easily, but the Viking had taken longer.

Learning a language out of necessity and survival spurred Will and he was a steady student.

“One day,” Hannibal said as the English made its way around his mouth. “I would like to see it with you.”

“You will,” he replied, nodding at him. He moved closer to Hannibal who had opened his large cloak, patting Will to sit beside him. He nuzzled closer to the man’s chest and wrapped his own cloak around Hannibal.

The two of them stayed in that position, within each other’s warmth, until the early hours of morning.

***

The next village seemed to unfurl in front of them. Will reared his horse to a stop, right beside Hannibal as they observed it from the hill. It was not as large as Hannibal’s, but it still had a reasonable amount of people occupying it. The river snaked between two sides of the village, with a large wooden bridge that joined them together.

It was still early morning, with the sun barely creaking over the edge. Will’s heart hammered in his chest. Were the Vikings of Earl _Du Maurier_ friendly? Or were they as wary as Hannibal’s were when Will first entered.

“Be careful of Du Maurier,” Hannibal said, his voice barely above a whisper. “She has a way of cutting people’s tongues.”

Will angled his head in confusion but before he could ask for an explanation, Hannibal rode forward and towards the village.

“Halt!” A man said as they reached what Will guessed was the entrance of the village. He sat beside a smouldering flame and walked towards them with suspicion. “What is your business?”

“I am King Hannibal Lecter,” Hannibal said, stretching his back out.

The man’s face burned red, which revealed the hollowness in his cheeks and his sunken eyes. His wrists were thin, to a point where Will thought they would break if he swung his sword way too high.

“I apologise, my lord,” the man quickly stuttered, realising his mistake. “We have been expecting you. Please, come through. I will send a messenger to notify Earl Du Maurier.”

Will slid off his horse, following Hannibal’s suit. If anything happened to the two of them, they were vastly outnumbered. But Hannibal walked with the calm and grace of a man who knew that he was in control.

“You do not have to do that,” the guard said. He moved with hurriedness that seemed to sap the energy from him. “ _Neal._ Please take the horses to the stables and make sure they are fed.”

The man who emerged from the shadows was tall but he too, shared similar signs of fatigue. He nodded a couple of times before taking the reigns from both men and led the horses further through the village. A couple of farmers wheeled some hay from place to place, watching Hannibal and Will with measured caution. But soon enough, word that _King Hannibal_ had come to visit the village spread like wild fire.

They stopped outside a hut with lavish decorations. Hannibal angled his head at Will, giving him a slow nod that meant, “ _Stay quiet, I will do the talking.”_ Will hadn’t planned on trying to talk to Du Maurier, but he heeded Hannibal’s words nonetheless.

As they entered, the woman sat on her chair, head tilted up with cool detachment. Her long blond hair was tied in two plaits. She had tattoos that ran down her neck and had a sword on her lap. She licked her lips with anticipation.

“King Hannibal, what a pleasure it is to see you,” she said, though her voice was smooth. It was hard to tell if she was pleased to see Hannibal. He bent down on one knee and Will followed suit.

“A king like you does not need to bow down to a simple _earl_ like me,” she said but she didn’t move from her seat. She glanced over them and drank them in like wine. It was hard to tell what she was thinking behind that careful, blank expression, but Will didn’t doubt that she was running through plenty of possibilities through her mind.

“But I am in your territory,” Hannibal replied, with the same measured calm. His eyes sparkled though, like he _knew_ her intimately, like he _knew_ that everything she had around her was simply a mask that he could tear down with a simple flick of his hand. “It would be rude if I didn’t show you some respect.”

“Time has not dulled your wit and smooth tongue, I see,” Du Maurier said.

Hannibal cracked a small, lifeless smile. “Of course not, Bedelia. I assume that it has only strengthened it.”

She lowered her eyes, resting on Will Graham. “And is this the _priest_ that I’ve been hearing about?”

Hannibal rested a hand on Will’s shoulder — a little territorially — and nodded. His grip was hard, as if he was frightened that if he wasn’t holding onto Will, he would lose him. Once Bedelia had stopped judging Will with that icy stare, Hannibal’s grip loosened and Will felt like he had been released from a spell.

“He is,” Hannibal replied, finally. “He will be the man who will win us a new place to farm.”

“Why is it,” Bedelia asked quietly. “You want a new place to farm?”

“Land means power,” Hannibal said. “Does it not?”

“But land as foreign as _—“_

“Have you raided Northumbria?” When she shook her head, he continued. “They are rich, they have machinery that we have never seen. They have gold and most of all, they are the future of our people.”

“The future of our people?”

“Can’t you see that we are dying here?” Hannibal asked. He held out a hand and gestured around them. “All of this will crumble with increased _bad_ harvests. I’ve seen it in the last five years. Our crops are failing.”

“My crops are not failing, perhaps it is your farmers,” Bedelia parried.

Hannibal laughed. “Your people do not tell you the truth. I’ve had people come from your land to mine, looking for food.”

“Deserters,” Bedelia hissed, but the arrow of his words had hit her. She raised a hand to her lips, looking out pensively. “But if you say these men are more advanced than us, do we have a chance to beat them in battle?”

Will chose to speak up. “We have the element of surprise and a way of fighting they have never seen, my lady.”

“ _My lady?”_ she repeated. “So your priest can speak the native tongue.”

Hannibal’s eyes flashed dangerously as he looked at Will from the corner of his eye. “He does.”

There was more to that gaze.

 _Don’t say another word, let me deal with this_.

“We believe that we can secure the north and work down until we claim the land,” Hannibal said. He then again, shot a sharper glance at Will.

 _Don’t say another word, don’t reveal too much_.

Will dipped his head and closed his eyes as he waited for the moment to pass.

“And you need troops,” Bedelia concluded. “You need _my_ troops.”

“Sharp as always,” Hannibal replied.

Bedelia gazed at him again. It was still hard to tell if she was angry or not, but it was easy to tell when she was lying. She had that way about her, the slight curl of her lip and the pulsating nervousness that Will could sense on the edge of her words.

“What if I say no?” she asked.

Hannibal looked as if he had been anticipating this comment. “Then I will further north to speak to Earl Garret Jacob Hobbs. He and I — often see eye to eye.”

Bedelia significantly stiffened at that suggestion. “You wish to call for his help after knowing how brutal his village is?”

“I need the allies,” Hannibal replied.

“I will have to think about your offer, how long until you plan on leaving?” she asked.

“I must get an answer from you before I can know if I must enlist the help of our allies in the north,” Hannibal said.

Bedelia sighed loudly. “The one thing that differs between you and me is… the meat that you eat. The people around you—“

“Are always fed,” Hannibal finished the sentence for her abruptly, in a way that meant that he was not going to discuss this further. “We will share the prize. You will get lands and you will get _gold_.”

“Okay,” Bedelia nodded. “Are you going to stay the night?”

“That would be greatly appreciated,” Hannibal said, bowing a little.

“I will tell you my decision at dawn.”

***

Dinner had been uneventful. Will took the broth, thanking them for their hospitality as he took a seat beside Hannibal in the corner. It was a relief to have something other than cured meat. But when he examined the broth more closely, he bit his lip at the _one_ sprig of leek and a carrot.

He brought the bowl to his lips and drank slowly. It no longer had the tang of meat that Will had come to tolerate.

“I don’t trust her,” Will said quietly.

“No one trusts Du Maurier,” Hannibal replied his tone close to silence.

The others milled about, but they weren’t as lively as they were back at Hannibal’s village. They each had the same haunted expressions and the same arms that looked like twigs.

Will wondered how bad the last harvest was to have the people like this. Even the muscliest did not reach the same level as _Hannibal’s_ men.

Bedelia walked through, into the tent and surveyed the crowd quietly. The men and women each bowed low as she passed them. She barely noticed them, unlike Hannibal who said hello and remembered everyone’s name. In a way, he was friendlier, but his kindness was calculated enough to benefit himself more than the other.

“I have decided that I will follow you this time,” Bedelia said. “But it may be the last time if this does not end successfully. You remember last time you asked me?”

Hannibal nodded gravely. “It was a miscalculation on my behalf.”

“I lost my best fighters, Hannibal,” she said.

“And I lost mine,” Hannibal responded. The two of them shared a silence as they remembered the fallen. “They are with Odin now. And you must remember that I have the side of the gods with me. I have the blood of —“

“You say that,” Bedelia said. “But I have not trusted you since.”

“It is the way of the gods, whatever happens…” Hannibal drifted off.

“I am sorry,” Bedelia sighed. “The past should not be rustled, but I cannot help but feel that my people are wary of you.”

Hannibal scratched his beard. “They will.”

What went unsaid was, _they will trust me more than you_.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ tumblr](https://the-teacupshatters.tumblr.com)


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